


Don’t Leave Again

by placereaduivame



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Hermione catches them twice, I still don’t know how to tag my works honestly, M/M, Underage Kissing
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-01-17
Updated: 2019-01-17
Packaged: 2019-10-11 16:52:41
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,294
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17450765
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/placereaduivame/pseuds/placereaduivame
Summary: Takes place in The Deathly Hallows during the chapter “The Silver Doe,” when Harry tries to get the Gryffindor sword and destroy the locket Horcrux. (When Ron saves Harry.)





	Don’t Leave Again

**Author's Note:**

> some tweaks: harry never went out with ginny, harry was the one crying a shit ton after ron left. this starts while harry is already in the water

The cold was agony: It attacked him like fire. His brain itself seemed to have frozen as he pushed through the dark, murky water to the bottom and reached out, groping for the sword. His fingers closed around the hilt; he pulled it upward.

Then something tight closed around his neck. He thought of water weeds, though nothing had brushed him as he dived, and he raised his hands to free himself. It was not water weeds: The chain of the Horcrux had tightened itself around Harry’s neck and was slowly constricting his windpipe.

Harry kicked out wildly at this realization, trying to push himself back to the surface, but merely propelled himself into the rocky side of the pool. Thrashing, suffocating, he scrabbled at the strangling chain, his frozen fingers unable to loosen it, and now little lights were popping inside of his head, and he was going to drown. There was nothing left, nothing he could do, and the arms that wrapped around his chest were surely Death’s…

Choking and retching, soaking wet and colder than he had ever been in his life, he came to the surface and fell face down in the snow. Somewhere close by, another person was panting and coughing, staggering around as they did so. Hermione had come again, as she had come when the snake attacked… Yet it did not sound like her, not with those deep coughs, not judging by the weight of the footsteps…

Harry hadn’t enough strength to even lift his head and see his savior’s identity, but he was hopeful, _very_ hopeful… Ron? He meant to ask it, but it came out as a choked cough instead of Ron’s name. All he could do was raise a shaking hand to his throat and feel the place where the locket had fastened tightly into his flesh. It was gone: someone had cut him free. Then a panting voice spoke from above him.

“Are—you— _mental_?”

Nothing but the overwhelming surge of emotions from hearing the voice could have given Harry the strength to scrabble for his glasses and get up. Shivering violently, he staggered to his feet. His knees buckled beneath him and he almost fell again, but strong hands were capable of catching him in time. He picked his head up.

There before him stood Ron, fully dressed but drenched to the skin, his hair plastered to his face, the sword of Gryffindor in one hand and the Horcrux dangling from its broken chain in the other.

“Why the _hell_ ,” Ron panted, holding up the Horcrux, which swung backward and forward on its shortened chain in some parody of hypnosis, “didn’t you take this thing off before you dived?”

Harry couldn’t answer, his words caught in his throat. So many things he wanted to say… The silver doe was nothing, _nothing_ in comparison to Ron’s reappearance; he could not believe it. He only managed to drag a couple of sweaters over his head when what seemed to be a staring match got overbearing. He couldn’t just _look_ at Ron. Before he could stop himself and with strength he didn’t know he had in him, he threw himself forward at Ron. Hot tears began to pour down his face, as had happened several times since Ron left Harry and Hermione. At least they warmed up his face. Ron almost immediately wrapped his arms around Harry, as he had while the two were under the freezing cold water, but it was different this time. They pressed their shuddering bodies together, Harry burying his face in Ron’s shoulder as tears streamed from his eyes. Ron wouldn’t be able to tell, since the red-head’s clothes were already soaked and the violent sobs wracking his body could be called shudders from the cold.

Ron seemed to be able to tell that Harry was crying, though, because he was now gently silencing Harry, whispering things too quiet for Harry to hear over the breeze but comforting none-the-less. It was a side of Ron that Harry knew was there but hardly showed itself. Harry was glad it was showing itself now, grateful for the soothing circles that Ron was making on his back with shaking hands. He tried to stay standing but, suddenly, his knees gave out and Ron caught him, pulling Harry closer now. If Ron didn’t see the tears before, he definitely did now, his embrace tighter. Harry felt the tears slow down and now he was not sobbing nearly as violently as he had hitherto been. He was leaning into Ron’sembrace with the little energy he still had.

“Blimey, Harry…” said Ron, looking down at the trembling, pitiful weight in his arms that was crashed against him. Harry looked up at him apologetically as Ron pulled sweater after sweater over Harry’s head until he was fully clothed and decent once more. It was nice to have dry clothes, even if they weren’t warm. They were both still shivering and it was silent for a while, though Ron looked as though he wanted to say something. Harry wanted to say something as well and he opened his mouth to do so, but Ron beat him to it.

”I’m sorry!” blurted Ron, his grip on Harry tightening. He sounded close to tears. Harry’s eyes widened substantially, but he said nothing. He said nothing at _first_ , anyway. After a minute of Ron’s grip slowly beginning to loosen and the sounds of slow breaths and chattering teeth filling the silence, Harry found his voice and broke the silence.

“Sorry for what?” croaked Harry, tilting his head and looking up at Ron. Though it was not what he wanted to ask initially, he still wanted to know what Ron felt the need to apologize for. Right when he figured out what Ron probably meant, Ron spoke.

“For… for leaving you,” answered Ron. “And Hermione,” He added, as though he had only just remembered their bushy-haired friend. Harry almost smiled at that. Ron wasn’t done, though. “I get if you don’t want me back— I- I mean, I know you don’t want me aroun—“

“Not. True.” growled Harry, cutting off and shaking Ron for emphasis as if his friend wasn’t already shaking enough from the cold.

“Really, Harry?” asked Ron. He always needed constant reassurance, but Harry never really minded.

“Yes, really, Ron! I’ve been—!” Harry cut himself off this time, making sure he watched what he said. He didn’t need Ron to know he’d cried for a week after Ron had left he and Hermione. “Since you left, I’ve… missed you. A lot,” confessed Harry after a pause, during which he collected his thoughts. He purposefully left out the crying part, if it wasn’t obvious by his reaction to Ron showing up. Hermione had thought he was sleeping in there as she stood guard, but Harry was good at crying quietly; living with the Dursley’s, you learn quite a lot, surprisingly.

Ron was looking at Harry right in the eyes and the intensity of the fire-haired boy’s blue eyes almost made Harry recoil. But it didn’t and he stayed put, his hands deciding on their own to slide up to Ron’s jaw and then up to his cheeks. They stayed like that, both staring into each other’s eyes, tuning out their surroundings, and ignoring the cold entirely. With a clang, the sword dropped to the ground behind them and Ron’s hand found Harry’s waist. They were both leaning closer, their lips were mere inches away, it was agonizing, one of them just _had_ to—

“I knew it!” came Hermione’s voice from Harry’s left, sounding almost smug. Harry’s face burned as he shuffled backward away from Ron, who badly attempted to stifle a disappointed sound and was rubbing the back of his neck. Hermione’s face contorted from one of pride to surprise.

“You got the sword!” She gasped, eyes on the neglected sword that lay on the ground. Harry and Ron had both seemingly forgotten it was there and then remembered as she brought it up, both turning to look at it.

“Ron was the one who pulled it out of the water,” informed Harry, giving Ron total credit, as was deserved.

“Ron, you have to destroy it,” said Hermione shortly afterward. Ron blinked stupidly.

“Uh?”

“The Horcrux,” specified Hermione with an exasperated tone. “Do you think that’s the real sword?”

“There’s only one way to find out, hm?” said Harry.

The Horcrux was still swinging from Ron’s hand. The locket was twitching slightly. Harry knew that the thing inside of it was agitated once again. It must have sensed the presence of the sword and tried to kill Harry rather than let him possess it. Now was not the first me for long discussions between the three of them, though; now was the time to destroy the locket once and for all. Harry picked up Hermione’s wand off of the ground and looked around with said wand held high. He saw the place he just knew it had to be destroyed: a flattish rock lying in the shadow of a sycamore tree.

“Over here,” he said, and he led the two of them over to the place. He brushed snow from the rock’s surface, and held out his hand for the Horcrux. Hermione was watching closely behind them. When Ron offered Harry the sword, however, Harry shook his head.

“No, remember? You need to do it,” He reminded Ron, who looked white in the face, “you pulled it out of the water.” finished Harry, concerned for Ron because of the color of his best mate’s face. Or lack thereof. He wasn’t being kind or generous. As certainly as he had known that the doe was beningn, he knew that Ron had to be the one that wielded the sword. Dumbledore had at least taught Harry something about certain kinds of magic, of the incalculable power of certain acts.

“I’ll open it and you stab it.” said Harry,  “Straightaway, okay? Because whatever’s in there will put up one hell of a fucking fight. The bit of Riddle that was in the diary tried to kill me, remember?” recalled Harry bitterly.

“How are you going to open it?” asked Ron. He looked terrified. Harry wanted nothing more to run over to him and reassure him everything would be okay, even if it was untrue. But both of them seemed to know of Hermione’s presence, and Harry thought better of it.

“I’m going to open it using Parseltongue,” said Harry. The answer came so readily to his lips that he thought that he had always known it deep down: Perhaps it had taken his recent encounter with Nagini to make him realize it. He looked at the serpentine _S_ , inlaid with glittering green stones. It was easy to visualize it as a miniscule snake, curled upon the cold rock. As he observed the locket, he saw Hermione step closer with acquiescence in his peripheral.

“No!” said Ron. “No, don’t open it! I’m serious!”

“Why not?” asked Harry. “Let’s get rid of the damn thing. It’s been months—“

“I can’t, Harry, I’m serious—you do it—“

“But why?”

“Because that thing’s bad for me!” said Ron, backing away from the locket laid out on the rock. “I can’t handle it! I’m not making excuses for how I acted, but it affects me worse than it affects you guys, it made me think stuff— stuff I was thinking anyway, but it made everything worse, I can’t explain it, and then I’d have to put the fucking thing back on—I can’t do it, Harry!”

He had backed away, the sword dragging at his head, shaking his head.

“You can do it,” said Hermione from behind them, approaching the two quicker now, “you can! You’ve just got the sword, I know it’s supposed to be you who uses it.”

“Please, just get rid of it, Ron,” pleaded Harry. The sound of his name seemed to act as a stimulant. Ron swallowed, then, still breathing hard through his long nose, moved toward the rock.

“Tell me when,” he muttered.

“On three,” said Harry, looking back down on the locket and narrowing his eyes, concentrating on the letter _S_ , imagining a serpent, while the contents of the locket rattled like a trapped cockroach. It would have been easy to pity it, except that the cut around Harry’s neck still burned.

“One… two… three… _open._ ”

The last word came as a hiss and a snarl and the golden doors of the locket swung wide with a little click. Behind both of the glass windows within blinked a living eye, dark and handsome as Tom Riddle's eyes had been before he turned them scarlet and slit-pupiled.

“Stab,” said Harry, holding the locket steady on the rock.

Ron raised the sword in his shaking hands: The point dangled over the frantically swiveling eyes, and Harry gripped the locket tighter, bracing himself, already picturing blood pouring from the empty windows.

Then a voice hissed out of the Horcrux.

_“I have seen your heart, and it is mine.”_

“Don’t listen to it!” said Harry harshly, not sure if what he was hearing was even Parseltongue. “Stab it!”

_“I have seen your dreams, Ronald Weasley, and I have seen your fears. All that you desire is possible, but all that you dread is equally as possible…”_

“Stab!” shouted Harry; his voice echoed off of the surrounding trees, the sword point trembled, and Ron gazed down into Riddle’s eyes.

_“Least loved, always, by the mother who craved a daughter… Least loved now, by the boy who prefers your friend… Second best, always, eternally overshadowed…”_

“Ron, stab it, now!” Harry bellowed: He could feel the locket quivering in his grip and was scared of what was coming. Was it even Parseltongue? Harry was panicking so badly he couldn’t even tell. Ron raised the sword higher, Harry trying to get closer without letting go of the locket, and as the red-headed wizard did so, Riddle’s eyes gleamed scarlet.

Out of the locket’s two windows, out of the eyes, there bloomed, like two grotesque bubbles, the heads of Harry and Hermione, weirdly distorted.

Ron yelled in shock and backed away as the figured blossomed out of the locket, first chests, then waists, then legs, until they stood in the locket side by side like trees with a common root, swaying over Ron and the real Harry, who had snatched his fingers away from the locket as it burned, suddenly white-hot.

“Ron!” Hermione shouted, but the Riddle-Harry was now speaking with Voldemort’s voice and Ron was gazing, mesmerized, into its face.

_“Why return? We were better without you, happier without you, glad of your absence… We laughed at your stupidity, your cowardice, your presumption—“_

_“Presumption!”_ echoed the Riddle-Hermione, who was more beautiful and yet more terrible than the real Hermione: She swayed, cackling, before Ron, who looked horrified yet transfixed, the sword hanging pointlessly at his side. _“Who could look at you, who would ever look at you besides your little crush, Harry Potter?”_ sneered the Riddle-Hermione.

“Ron, stab it, STAB IT!” Harry yelled, red in the face, but Ron did not move. His eyes were wide, and the Riddle-Harry and the Riddle-Hermione were reflected in them, their hair swirling like flames, their eyes shining red, their voices lifted in an evil duet. Harry stepped closer to Ron, prepared to help him if he needed to.

 _“Your mother confessed she’d rather have me as a son,”_ jeered the Riddle-Harry. Did she? Harry did not actually know, nor did he care.

 _“Who wouldn’t? Who would want YOU?”_ crooned Riddle-Hermione, and she stretched like a snake and entwined herself around Riddle-Harry, weapping him in a close embrace. Their lips

met.

On the ground in front of them, Ron’s face filled with anguish. He raised the sword high, his arms shaking.

“Do it, Ron!” Hermione yelled. Ron looked toward her, and Harry thought he saw a trace of red in his eyes. Hermione looked scared.

“Ron—?”

The sword flashed, plunged: Hermione fearfully threw herself out of the way, there was a clang of metal and a long, drawn-out scream. Harry whipped around, slipping in the snow, wand held ready to defend himself, but there was nothing to fight.

The monstrous versions if himself and Hermione were gone: There was only Ron, standing there with the sword held slackly in his hand, looking down at the shattered remains of the locket on the flat rock, and Hermione, shivering next to a tree away from Ron with fear evident in her features.

Slowly, Harry walked back to him, having so many things to say or do that he didn’t know _what_ to do. Ron was breathing heavily, and his eyes were  wet. Hermione walked forward, though with obvious hesitance.

“Ron, we didn’t—“

“Liar!” Ron bellowed at her before she could say any more words. Harry stared at the scene before him, dumbfounded. Ron looked fucking furious.

“Please, I swear—“ She attempted again, but he scoffed.

“Oh, sure! So you didn’t snog him? You guys have probably been shagging every night since I’ve been gone!” Ron was seething, looking angrily from Hermione to Harry. Harry stepped forward, closer to Ron now, his heart pounding against his chest.

“Ron—“ Harry began.

“Don’t even— I can’t— I don’t even know where to start with you! What was that back there by the pool? Were you just mes—!” Before Ron could finish his words, Harry had shut his eyes tight and kissed Ron, his hand sliding up the boy’s cheek. Hermione made a small ‘eep!’ sound. Ron took a second, but he kissed back and put his arms around Harry’s waist, pulling him closer. Harry could hear shuffling in the snow and assumed it was Hermione not knowing where else to look other than at the two wizards kissing in front of her. He broke away from Ron, and the fire in Ron’s eyes had cooled and he didn’t look nearly as furious.

“Would I have done that if I liked Hermione?” asked Harry.

“I sure hope not,” chuckled Ron. Hermione seemed to calm down a lot more as well, letting out a small sigh of what was probably relief. Ron handed Harry the sword with a smile. “You deserve it.”

Harry grinned sheepishly, but took the sword from Ron. Hermione gave a small, knowing smile and began to walk back towards their tent. Harry began to follow, but Ron had grabbed his wrist.

“We’ll only be a second, Hermione!” Ron had called.

“Okay!” said Hermione with a small laugh. Before Harry could process anything else, Ron pinned him to the nearest tree, his hands in Harry’s messy black hair. He wasted no time, shutting his eyes and kissing Harry, who kissed back as he gripped at Ron’s red hair with his own eyes closed. Harry tilted his head slightly, ignoring a protesting crack from his glasses, and Ron deepened the kiss. Harry let out a small noise and his hips gave a slight, involuntary jerk. He felt his face get hot and Ron took one hand from Harry’s hair and slid it down Harry’s thin frame.

“Just a second?” Hermione must have walked back, because that was definitely her voice. They broke away quickly and Hermione was slightly red-faced, but she was smirking with raised eyebrows. Harry and Ron exchanged a glance and then looked back at Hermione, who rolled her eyes. “If you’re going to do that, do it _later_ ,” She requested.

“Woah, thanks, glad I have your permission,” said Ron sarcastically. She gave a breathy laugh and turned. Harry turned to Ron and looked up at him.

“Please, don’t leave again,” He whispered and and this time he _made_ Ron follow Hermione back to the tent.


End file.
